


Old scars

by Asociality



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eddie is a broken child, F/M, Fluff, Fucked Up Shit, Hurt/Comfort, Implied pedophilia, Mentions of Rape, So yeah, Stockholm Syndrome, The pedophilia is only slightly implied tbh, Triggers, but I mean that's what happened to him in canon, but it's a bad thing, domestic abuse, he just needs a hug ok, i guess?, ive never done anything this sweet before, mentions of past trauma, sympathy for captor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asociality/pseuds/Asociality
Summary: A short fic wherein Eddie has a bit of a traumatic flashback. Poor, poor, murder babyHalf inspired by a chapter by Priest_Of_PlagueAlso by a scene in The Nurse by fruit100p (is that how it's spelled?? The text format is confusing me)





	Old scars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Nurse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236019) by [fruit1oop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruit1oop/pseuds/fruit1oop). 

You twiddled your thumbs, your eyes darting up occasionally to view the face of the man slumped against the beam to your right. You felt your tongue stick in your throat when the urge to ask him what was wrong stung the back of your brain. He'd been silent for a long time. Far longer then he'd ever been before. From the moment he found you, and dragged you down to this hellish workshop he'd barely shut his mouth. Sickly sweet words and rambling conversations spewed from the man like a gushing faucet. Mere hours ago you'd have killed for a moment of silence, but now...It seemed...unnerving...

You glanced around the room, attempting to distract yourself. How long had you been down here with him? The soft light beaming from the small window across the room marked the 7th night.

A week of marital bliss.

You bit your tongue, your sarcastic thoughts somehow burning a twinge of guilt into your mind. He'd admittedly been much kinder to you then anything else lurking the blood stained halls of your former residence . He'd found you, taken you in, cleaned you up, showered you with adoration-

you ground your teeth into your cheek, chastising yourself for romanticizing the situation.

He'd captured you, Dragged you down here, forced your clothes off with the lazy excuse of a bath, and offered delusional words of love and affection.

you glanced up again.

his face was blank. Emotionless, as if deep in thought. You wondered if it was a painful memory. The tears streaming down his scarred cheeks seemed to suggest as much. You again felt a twinge of remorse, your hurtful thoughts burning through your head as if they were what had upset him so.

You looked back down to your hands, now worrying at the dirty fabric he'd worked so hard to supply you with. It was a poor dress, but a nice gesture. You wondered if that might cheer him up? He did love to sew, and seemed to love any form of praise, no matter how small or forced it may be.

You mustered the courage to speak, your soft voice cutting through the silence like a dagger against a throat.

"I like the dress."

You waited a moment for him to respond.

he didn't.

he sat just as still, just as silent, face just as blank.

you questioned for a moment if he'd even heard you.

"it's very pretty. you must have been sewing for a very long time to-"

"eight."

you jumped, your face darting up to his own. He still looked blank, but his jaw seemed to be set tighter now. You felt your stomach churning, unsure of what to do.

"...excuse me?"

"Eight." He said, distantly, almost as if he was merely musing to himself. "I was eight when I first learned to sew."

he shifted, pulling a leg up to rest his forearm against as he hunched forward.

"My mother taught me. My father had beaten her senseless, torn her only good dress in a druncken stupor. She was fixing it when I insisted on helping."

A small smile seemed to flash across his dry lips.

"It was a terrible job. Obvious stitches, bunching fabric, neither of us were very good, I'm afraid. But she acted as if I'd done the most amazing work she'd ever seen. Like she couldn't have done it without my help."

his smile seemed to falter and morph into a grimace.

"my father was furious. The second he came through the door I smelt the alcohol on his breath. And when he saw me and mother..."

his face was blank again, as if he was trying to distance himself from the memory, but the tears collecting on his jawline betrayed him

"he beat her. Badly. Said it was for "queering up his son". He only stopped when she when she went limp. When she couldn't scream anymore. Then he turned his anger to me."

he leaned back again, his gaze falling, hollow, on the blood soaked ceiling above him.

"I can still taste the copper in my mouth from the first hit. I can still hear his voice. "If you wanna act like a girl, Ed, I'm gonna treat you like a girl."...then he grabbed me, drug me down stairs. I..."

his hand clasped over his mouth, blocking a pained sob.

"I never knew anything could hurt so bad"

the second it left his mouth he was in hysterics. his hand moved to cover his face, as he hunched over, shoulders shaking with every pitiful sound dripping between his fingers.

you stared, entirely unsure of how to respond to...that. But as your confusion faded, you found it replaced with sympathetic remorse. You pulled yourself closer to him, nerves screaming to stay back, but pushed aside by empathy. He was still crying heavily into his palms, seemingly unaware of your presence beside him.

you hesitated, every muscle tense and ready to run if he flew into a rage, as he was known to do in emotionally delicate situations, But sill, you forced a hand out. You felt him tense under your touch, his head jerking towards you. His expression was wild and panicked, like a startled animal.

You flinched, but kept your hand on him.

His face softened.

His eyes were puffy, and you knew they'd be red if they weren't so much already. You felt a tinge of courage as you removed your hand, replacing it gently against his blistered cheek. He leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting shut and a soft, contented breath leaving his nostrils. After a moment he shifted, laying his head down across your lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. You hesitated again, finally bringing down a hand to trail through his ebony hair. He sighed again, humming against you.

you sat together for a while, until the soft rise and fall of his chest lulled you to sleep, his quiet murmur being the last thing to drift past your ears before you succumbed to his warmth and rhythmic breath.

"Thank you, my darling"

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this honestly turned out fluffier then I originally imagined? I just adore the idea of this hulking psychopath being so soft and helpless. Hes such a fucking puppy. I love him so much oh my god


End file.
